Enigma of sorts!

Raju Korti

Among the many colourful politicians I was exercised to meet, Vidya Charan Shukla was by far the most intimidating. All the Arabian Nightsque stories about him that had been doing rounds during the country's darkest hour -- the Emergency -- had only served to accentuate my fears about the man whose father Ravishankar Shukla was the first chief minister of the reorganised Madhya Pradesh.
His home turf Raipur was earlier part of the Central Provinces and Berar and the senior Shukla -- a lawyer, freedom fighter and a veteran Congressman happened to know my father fairly well. As a matter of fact, I sought an audience with Vidya Charan purely on the basis of my father's acquaintance with his father and to be fair to the man, he agreed without any fuss. In politically conscious Madhya Pradesh, the Shuklas displayed a huge clout. Vidya Charan's elder brother Shyama Charan had already served as a CM and the family had a large stake in the state's mineral rich mining. Having won the parliamentary election from from Mahasamund as many as nine times, Vidya Charan's proximity to Indira Gandhi was quite well known. He then went on to hold a number of portfolios, but his stint as the Information and Broadcasting Minister was particularly eventful for reasons more wrong than right.This was in 1975 that got him some odium as propagandist for Indira government. Although, his ministry attracted adverse attention for the media censor policy when  freedom of expression had been brutally compromised, everyone knew who was the real architect of the gag order. Vidya Charan, like most senior Congressmen, did his bidding with the sycophancy the party has become synonymous with. His detractor Arjun Singh, another influential player in the state and national politics, was also among the famed Indira coterie in those times. However, unlike his other tainted partymen Bansi Lal and Sanjay Gandhi, Vidya Charan, always flush with authority and power, showed the gumption to own up his "excesses" before the Shah Commission post-Emergency.
Two instances must be mentioned at the cost of repetition. His purported late night knock at the doors of actress Vidya Sinha -- when the two were in the same hotel -- and telling the latter "Mai bhi Vidya tu bhi Vidya, dono milkar ho jaaye ek" and banishing Kishore Kumar from All India Radio and Doordarshan for the singer's refusal to perform at the party's rally. It was harsh on KK who had replaced the almighty Mohammed Rafi and was coming into his own. So also his role in the disappearance of several reels of the contentious film Kissa Kursi Ka, a political satire by BJP's Amritlal Nahata.
Vidya Charan just smiled at the mention. "I have come a long way since then," he told me. Indeed he had since he raised the banner of revolt against Rajhiv Gandhi and joined hands with Jan Morcha of "Mr Clean" VP Singh. The once Indira loyalist then returned to the PV Narasimnha Rao government before launching his own outfit and serving a short stint with the BJP.
Off the record, Vidya Charan was all for the separate statehood for Vidarbha but on record he preferred to be non committal, incidentally at a time when a veteran Congress leader C Subramanyam had advocated the need for smaller states. His heart lay in the newly carved tribal Chhattisgarh of which he aspired to become the first chief minister, but he hadn't forgotten how old foe Ajit Jogi with Digvijay Singh's not so tacit support, had managed to outsmart him in the run up to the top post.
"I will work for the party's unity but I left the Congress only because of Jogi and this time I will ensure unwanted party leaders do not grab power if the party wins in the assembly polls due next year," Shukla told me. "My top priority will be to unite the party in the state but my battle against unwanted elements in the Congress will continue."

Asked how his own brother Shyama Charan had voiced his opposition to the Chhattisgarh statehood, Vidya Charan conceded that his elder brother was keen to be the CM himself and that only muddied the political waters in the state, but preferred to be cagey on the question about having pulled out all stops to stymie Jogi's ascent to power.
For Vidya Charan, Chhattisgarh was a case of Paradise Lost. Having genuinely believed that the new state whose conception he so ardently wished was his, it was a huge setback to him that he couldn't garner much support for his ambition although at one time the BJP toyed with the idea of engineering a split within the state party ranks. However, all those manoeuvres were quickly laid to rest when it was seen that Vidya Charan had few takers in his own party. He felt it was "betrayal of the worst kind."
The man, who looked a bit aristocratic, and at times also behaved like one, was clearly a spent force. It is another story that he met with an end in a state where he always wanted to be but in a manner one would rather not remember.

With a lot of Re-Morse. RIP telegram!

Raju Korti

Finally, the Bharat Sanchar Nigam Ltd (BSNL) has decided to write the epitaph of an institution that dates back to well over 150 years. In an era punctuated by up-to-the-minute technological advances, the good old telegram has been cruelly edged out by smartphones, emails and SMS. The old world charm of the telegram that often turned the world of the people topsy turvy will now be consigned to the realms of nostalgia.
The generation born in the late eighties and later will perhaps never be able to appreciate and understand the world of telegraphic communication. An email or an SMS can never carry the depth, punch and feeling of a hand-written letter for which no one has the time and patience these days. In my school days, I distinctly recall a chapter "A letter written by William Hazzlitt to his son" as a chapter in English. Today, it might be "An email sent by Steve Jobs to his son through Whatsapp." Technology is a double-edged weapon that often takes away the soul and emotion out of human life and makes it utterly robotic and bland.
In the times of post cards, envelopes and inland letters, the telegram enjoyed an exclusivity and importance the present-day systems of communication will seldom have for, they can never boast of evoking the same sense of anticipation.
The telegram threw up a spectrum of human innervation -- the joy of having landed a job, the greetings of near and dear ones on festive occasions, the arrival of a new born and the disconsolation of the bereaved. And in good time. You just had to visit a telegraph office to see the postal staff working in the chaotic sounds of the Morse Keys to know how the system worked to ensure that the service delivered many happy and sad news to people spread all over the country. It was a part of one's growing consciousness.
Such was the awe and contemplation of the telegram that unless one had a fair sense of presentiment, one would shiver untill it was opened and read. You were hit with a sledge hammer if it was about someone's death. The few suspense moments before the postman shouted "telegram" or "taar" and you signed the acknowledgement, could be killing. Only a split second stood between relief and torment.
Of course, the telegram wasn't without its comic side too. Often people who sent telegrams about their arrivals back home, ended up receiving them themselves. Telegram will indeed remain the last remnant of the saga of letters. Remember the old Hindi movie scenes where heart attacks were caused by arrival of a telegram.
With a great institution consigned to the dustbins of history, the older generation will have another subject to cud upon and relate to their younger ones. A live wire will remain mired only in archives. The country's ruralside which had steadfastly swore by the telegram has now shifted its loyalties towards the mobile phone under the BSNL's own aegis. And the striking irony is the PSU has moved on with an apologetic "What an Idea Sirji".

 

Essaying a "NO"

Raju Korti
There is more "No" in no than there is "Yes" in yes. If that confounds or befuddles you, let me lean on Sigmund Freud according to whom a denial or abnegation is a sort of psychological defense mechanism in which a person is faced with a fact that is too uncomfortable to accept and rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite what may be overwhelming evidence.
Let me demystify. Ajmal Kasab denied he carried out terror attacks, Shahrukh Khan denied he misbehaved at Wankhede Stadium, Chidambaram and A Raja denied their roles in 2G scam, the Army denied it planned to take over the country, Kripa Shankar Singh denied he made ill-gotten money, Bill Clinton denied he had a fling with a White House intern, Manmohan Singh denied any wrongdoings by his goverment, Dawood Ibrahim denied he runs a betting syndicate, "Hindu Dons" Chhota Rajan and Arun Gawli denied they were running extortion rackets, Barkha Dutt denied she had anything to do with Radiagate, BCCI President N Srinivasan denied any role in fixing and what have you. If you thought denials were an individual thing, there is Pakistan which as a nation lives in a state of perpetual denial. The list is illustrious and unending.
There is something very emphatic and decisive about a denial than in an acquiescence. Clinically, denials may have their darker and brighter sides but staying in denial can tinker with you ability to tackle challenges.
As someone who has spent over three decades in journalism, I can vouch for the importance (or not!) of a denial. Everyday, newspapers and TV channels are inundated by any number of press releases where someone or the other keeps denying something or the other. But by far the most bizarre one that I experienced came from a murder convict who shot off a handout to all local newspapers, denying he had committed the crime. Probably his conscience was guided by the philosophy that a good denial is the best point in law and its power can never be under-rated.
Let me not paint a "no" with a black brush. Psychologists have written article galore on how respecting your own boundaries lies in a conscientious "no". Half the troubles of life can be traced to saying yes too quickly and not saying no soon enough. Tactically and otherwise!
So today I invite you to join me in remembering it’s OK to say no, and our world won’t fall apart because of it.

Its OK to say no if you don’t feel moved by an opportunity -- no matter how exciting it might sound to someone else. Happiness is a choice, but it’s made up of lots of smaller choices we need to make based on what we actually want.
It’s OK to say no if you’d rather relax than go out -- no matter how many other people think you should be social. Only we know when we need to recharge and take care of ourselves, so it’s up to us to recognize and honor that.
It’s OK to say no if you’d need to sacrifice your needs to help someone else -- even if a part of you feels a little guilty about it. People are always going to have requests. Sometimes we’ll be able to help; sometimes we won’t. We’re still good people regardless.
It’s OK to say no because you don’t have time -- even if you don’t know right in this moment when you’ll be more available. We’re allowed to say no without hinting toward a future yes.
It’s OK to say no without a detailed excuse -- even if you feel like you should offer one. “This doesn’t feel right for me right now” is a perfectly valid reason.
Lastly, it’s OK to say no even if you’ve already said yes, if you realize you weren’t being true to yourself. It’s far better to make the right decision late than follow through with the wrong one because you think you should.
A civil "no" is much better than a rude grant.

The "Red" Alert!

Raju Korti

Having covered Naxals and Naxalism extensively for well over two decades between 1979 and 1999 as a professional journalist has proffered its own advantages. I recall vividly doing a story for The Hindu's Frontline magazine in which I had pointed out how the Marxist-Leninist "ideological" movement -- that originated  from West Bengal's Naxalbari and later flourished on the borders of Maharashtra, Madhya Pradeh, Andhra Pradesh and Orissa -- had degenerated into plain brigandry by mid-80s. With the death of Kondapalli Seetharamiah of the People's War Group, easily their most influential ideologue around the time, the movement had started lapsing into mindless violence in the name of protecting hapless tribals and the poor. Scouring the labyrinthine and unpredictable jungles of the Naxal-infested areas of Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh, I realised that the much vaunted claim of the Maoists to protect the poor, have-not tribals from exploitation by the haves wasn't on a sound footing. The simple reason was if the government succeeded in their proverty alleviation programmes and development came the tribals' way, the Naxals would have no plank and would be rendered redundant. Of course, their case was helped by most governmental schemes for the uplift and development of tribals being brought to a nought by corrupt officials, unscrupulous landlords and overzealous police.
Ironically, the appreciation for the article came from those assigned the task of spreading Maoist influence in urban areas and running its propaganda wing -- Kobad Ghandy and his wife Anuradha Shanbhag Ghandy. I found Kobad and his Sociology professor wife too soft-spoken and well read to be involved in a violent movement. Of course, at the time, I had little inkling that Kobad, who was a Special Correspondent with  The Sunday Observer was the founding member of Committee for the Protection of Democratic Rights. He was also believed to be in touch with global ultra-Left organisations. Taking into consideration his ability to analyse the national and international developments, he was also entrusted with the job of building up the Naxal movement in urban areas. Which is how he was finally arrested from Delhi sometime in 2009.
Tall and decently dressed, the fair and bespectacled Kobad was very articulate. His voice hardly rose beyond a whisper. His wife was, however, more vocal.
Though the violent Naxalite movement began in Maharashtra in Gadchiroli division abutting Andhra Pradesh three decades ago, it had failed to spread to other areas. In Kerala too the Naxalites had failed to make much of an impact. Karnataka, where the movement was relatively strong just a decade ago, had seen a split in the rank and file of Maoists after a section of leaders leaders questioned the very principle of area- wise seizure of power starting from forest areas. Ever since the split, the Maoist party failed to strike roots in the state and Kobad was drafted for bringing about a rapproachment.
Interestingly, the Ghandys never discussed Maoism. Each time we met, the talks would centre around journalism. I would often wonder why Anuradha never came to journalism as she would speak very animatedly about things like news selection, headlines, display, layouts and story-writing. Having seen the way she wrote and her understanding of various issues, I had no doubts she would have made a great journalist. But the slim and good-looking Anuradha would laugh it off whenever I suggested her to take up the profession. "You know Raju, I have this activist's mindset, and with Kobad, I have decided to spend my life for the cause of poor tribals in the jungles of Chandrapur, Bhamragarh, Aalapalli, Gadchiroli," she would announce, an air of vehemence in her voice.
It wasn't long before I discovered that the couple had links with the Committee for Protection of Democratic Rights. A junior colleague brought to my notice that the CPDR and other Naxal front outfit hand-outs were usually delivered by Anuradha. Quizzed, she made absolutely no secret of her and her husband's Maoist affililiations and I found it hard to believe that they were connected with such a violent movement, ideology and justifications kept by the side.
One day both vanished and for a long time there were only speculations about their whereabouts. In any case, both never lived like conventional husband and wife and seemed more like a team dedicated to a cause. Their's was a marriage of ideas. The last I heard about Anuradha was she died of cerebral malaria in the jungles of Dandakaranya in central India sometime in 2002. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her, but she had opted for that life of her own volition.
My brief but meaningful interaction with the Ghandys vindicated the focus of my story that the Naxal movement had shed its original credo and was meandering into a cult of needless bloodshed. At the other end of the spectrum, I had seen the PWG leader Seetharamiah whose charisma and knowledge had the potential to turn a right winger into Leftist in no time.
Naxalism has undergone a paradigm shift in the last 15 years. The movement, one-stitch-social-one-stich blood is now mired in the kind of violence that you cannot distinguish from the one unleashed by the terrorists in the name of religion. Both have cadres committed to destabilization of state without any pretensions to meaningful dialogue across the table. And both, potential threats.
   



  

Paisa feko tamasha dekho...

Raju Korti

Before I indulge in my routine exercise of unleashing a harangue on you, I must make a honest confession. I am one of those countless millions who stick around in front of the TV to watch the jamboree called Indian Premier League, which can be more aptly described as the International Paisa League. However, my affectation happens by sheer default as I have precious little to do otherwise and because no other entertainment perhaps comes more cheaper.
As a humble man who contributes to the IPL exchequer and the bloating pockets of our pampered cricketers, I have few equally humble suggestions to the IPL think thank. That is, of course, believing that some thinking goes into this hoopla. Here are my two cents that will probably add up to nothing.

FOR THE COMMENTATORS

1) Don't qualify every streaky shot that runs to the boundary with a tired and jaded "Doesn't matter how they come as long as they come". Think of some other phrase. English is expansive enough to offer you different fares.
2) For heaven's sake avoid comments like "1999 runs in IPL. He needs just one run to reach 2000." That undermines our common sense and knowledge of Maths.
3) Please find alternate adjectives for every hike over the boundary. We have had enough of "Fantastic"  and "Stunning".
4) Do not waste steam on describing field positions and the scores. The TV screen does it for you and the viewers watch with their eyes.
5) The excitement and noise is already in the air. So don't scream when every wicket falls or a ball is hit. Reserve those decibels for more fitting occasions.
6) We do not have to be experts in human psychology to know that no batsman is happy when he is out LBW or no bowler is happy when a catch is put down off his bowling. By now we have learnt it by heart: "He will be so disappointed".
7) Get rid of fluff like "He can bat a fair bit/hit a long distance, very exciting to watch" or "its a youngsters game but the veterans have proved better" and stuff like that. Cliches aren't fun at all.

FOR THE ANCHORS
1) You are supposed to ask questions, not make statements. "You played well today", "The wicket was good and the ball came onto the bat" and "You will be happy/disappointed with your performance" are not questions.
2) Don't ask leading and obvious questions like "What went wrong?" or "How does it feel to get your first five-wicket haul?". The viewer already knows the answers.
3) Spare us of the antics like jigs, waltzs and dancing. Leave it to the cheerleaders who are in any case paid to do that. Also save us from those weird expressions even if it is something as inane and mindless as "Jhamping jhamping jhapang Gili Gili Ye.". The relentless bombarding of this atrocity is traumatising enough.
4) Do not treat us to excess dosages of wise-cracking. Your comments are mortifying enough.

FOR THE PLAYERS
1) Find better expressions. Kicking the air, jumping and pumping muscles do not excite any more.
2) Sledging, swearing, glaring and mouthing expletives is passe and boring. You have the bat and ball to show your mettle. You don't have to be so melodaramtically polite either when you get words of praise or an award. It sounds terribly corny when you are praising a rival whom you had sledged barely a while ago. The "heat of the moment" act doesn't impress, doesn't convince.

FOR THE ORGANISERS
1) Rewards are fine but paying Rs 1 lakh for a six or a catch is a bit too tough on our poor sensitivities. By now we know the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) has earned the sobriquet of being Mr Moneybags and can loosen its purse-strings for even the minorest achievement.
2) Get hold of a more sensible outfit to train the cheerleaders. The bum-shaking act has gone bust.
3) Remind the players every now and then that they are hero-worshipped and elevated at the cost of we poor, doting fans. Make sure they don't lose sight of the fact that they have a head on their shoulders and that it does not get bloated with reasons other than cricket.

NOW FOR THE GROUND REALITY
This blog is going to be such a waste (of time). The International Paisa League doesn't ride on people's perception but their money. So in this IPL Season 6, let's keep braving "Jhamping jhamping jhapang Gili Gili Ye" and laugh it off.

From Pee-wish to Penance!

Raju Korti
By the time this blog surfaces on my Facebook wall, Maharashtra's honourable Deputy Chief Minister Ajitdada Pawar -- Sharad Pawar's gift to this "progressive state" -- will have, by his own pious and sacred considerations, flushed clean his sin of rubbing salt on the bleeding farmers of the state.
At a function at Indapur near Pune, the ever so irascible Pawar had said with his characteristic brusque "Paanich naahi tar mutayche kay?" (If there is no water in the dam ... Should we urinate into it?) even as the farmers already up to their neck in debt, heard the tactless remark in utter disbelief. As it would, it pissed off a state reeling under a severe drought. Political and media pressure forced him to tender an apology which he qualified with with a statement to the effect that it was an off-the-cuff comment and the biggest mistake of his life.

From whatever little I have seen and known about the man who comes from the prosperous sugarcane belt of western Maharashtra, atonement and penance are alien to his ethos. In the "who cares" corridors of Mantralaya, Pawar has acquired quite a reputation for his boorish and rude behaviour. It pales in comparison his dismal performance as the Irrigation Minister.
Ajitdada's arrogance stems out of the complacency that most political leaders derive out of financial and muscle power. Unfortunately, as a protégé of his wily uncle, Ajitdada hasn't learnt any lessons in sensitivity that his party spokesperson Nawab Malik wants to attribute him to.
Given his penchant to rub people the wrong way and often getting away with it, it probably didn't occur to Ajitdada's unceremonious gall that this time he was carrying the burden of his full bladder a bit too far. Worse still, he unleashed it on a hapless community which is presided over by his own uncle Sharad Pawar in his capacity as the country's Agriculture Minister .
Nothing puts the fear of God in a politician more than loss of face and chair. With the precipitous dung catching up with him, Ajitdada's conscience has suddenly woken up and now he has scrambled to the memorial of Yashwantrao Chavan in Karad for what he calls a "penance". Instead of apologising to the farmers at whose miserable expense he made that mindless speech, Ajitdada has in his belated wisdom chosen to say sorry to his mentor's mentor than to resign. Having had resigned earlier and reinstated again in the wake of the Rs 27,000 crore irrigation scam, Ajitdada knows that public memory is short.
Ajitdada's apology is a sham and his so called "penance" even a bigger one though he denies it as a publicity stunt. Doting uncle Sharad Pawar has already described his remarks with a mild "inappropriate".
It is likely the din will die down in the exchanges between the Opposition and the NCP as also between the  Cong-NCP, but hunger for power will allow the coalition to keep term(s). And men like Ajitdada will continue to not only survive, but also thrive through more controversies.
Watch out for the denouement in the third and last act of this high-voltage drama.  Everything will be forgotten and forgiven and the nephew will be back with a clean slate.  

Will this be the General's last salute?

Raju Korti

For his sheer propensity for the holier than thou, one needs to hand it to former president and general Pervez Musharraf. If you ignored the man's chameleonic character, Musharraf, who fled Pakistan to return after four years of "self imposed exile", has proclaimed with his usual bluster that "I am among those people who think of the country and the citizens." His precise timing to return to his troubled homeland shows just that, albeit in a contradictory manner.
Having seized power in a bloodless coup in 1999, Musharraf knows he is In The Line of Fire, to quote the name of his book. Ironically, Musharraf authored the paens to himself in the book when he was putting all parliamentary, judicial and democratic institutions in the firing line even when his crooked mind plotted the misadventure in Kargil without the knowledge of his prime minister Nawaz Sharif.
Like all politicians, he nursed grandiose ideas of his popularity by holding a rigged and bogus referendum to endorse himself as the President. Dictators across the world are not known to have survived their whimsical rule for long and Musharraf was no exception, though he did a shade better than many others. Obviously buoyed by the track record of the military rulers of the likes of the stupid Ayub Khan and the sinister Zia ul Haq, Musharraf survived for mainly two reasons: His carefully cultivated image as a suave and modern leader who wanted to bring his nation out of the fundamental morass even while egging the religious extremism against India and the United States. He found a convenient ally in the Americans, both thriving on political double standards. But two-timing never pays and he had to pay for this double cross, having to play along with the Americans in the war in Afghanistan. On the flip side, he harnessed the mushrooming militant groups waiting to strike against India.
Musharraf who never hid his admiration of Kamal Ataturk, used his devious mind to attack Kargil much against the wishes of his senior civilian and military officials. But the hush hush plan to infiltrate Kashmiri forces came a cropper after a heightened international pressure forced Sharif to withdraw the insurgents. It was here that the seeds of Musharraf-Sharif dispute were sown in. For the wily general, this was an intolerable snub, having had got rid of Benazir Bhutto, herself brought up on the hate politics of her more malicious father Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto.
Without bothering to go into the history that led to the ouster of Nawaz Sharif and the subsequent series of events, Musharraf finally miscalculated the consequences of holding elections. When you live in your ivory towers, you lose connect with people. Musharraf fell in the same pit he had dug up for the Opposition which was itching to settle scores with him. Besides Pakistan's people, always caught between the military and civilian crossfire, didn't want the man to foist himself any more. His image brutalized, he fell dramatically and mass movements bayed for his impeachment. True to his character, he called his four-year stray in London as "self imposed exile" and mobilized a party of his own to run for the National Assembly.
The General may have heralded his return to tumultuous Pakistan with a lot a of stage-managed fanfare, but the roadmap from here is anything but easy. He is already a marked man, targeted by Taliban and the present military establishment. Democratic dispensations are wary of him, given his past record at treachery and political somersaults.
Behind the army demeanor, there lurks a hard-core politician. Aware of the rebuffs that dot his path, he has already met with a few. His nomination papers were rejected for his acts of "reason and corruption", a clause Indian electoral system could well draw from. But howsoever Musharraf wants to propagandize his love for Pakistan, no one is hoodwinked into believing that and the man has landed back on his home soil because he hardly had any option. He is obviously trying to make a virtue of his compulsion.
There are a string of cases lined up against him. Having trampled all institutions during his cleverly manipulative regime, he is everybody's burden. Elevating such a man at the helm again is fraught with the consequences Pakistani people may not try to experiment with.
Take it. This is a do-or-die battle for Musharraf. He will be consigned to the dustbin of history if his outfit fails to come to power. But so mercurial is the country's political health and so helpless are the people that it is dicey to predict electoral outcomes there. In any case, civilian governments are run like puppets by the Army which is also rife with dissensions. If not anything, the courts will play activists, which miffed Musharraf when he was all-in-all.
There is, of course, this one in hundred chance that the man might return to craft his fledgling country. No one knows better than Musharraf that anything is possible in his country where ferment is the order of the day.
Welcome to Pakistan where only the most insidious survive.